


peter nureyev and "yes, juno, i did buy you clothes"

by looketh_its_brooketh



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Fake Marriage, Other, Peter Nureyev is in Love, Pre-Episode: s01e14-15 Juno Steel and the Train from Nowhere, Shopping, but like PRE-fake marriage, i know i created audra but i love her, peter nureyev gets to be fancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:46:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28540527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/looketh_its_brooketh/pseuds/looketh_its_brooketh
Summary: Duke Rose does a bit of shopping.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 10
Kudos: 66





	peter nureyev and "yes, juno, i did buy you clothes"

**Author's Note:**

> when did nureyev have time to buy juno clothes? this fic seeks to answer that question.

It’s a comforting feeling, Peter Nureyev thinks, to know that you have money—to pass shops and stores and simply walk into one and buy something, to sit at home and, in a spurt of spontaneity, decide to order take-out. The satisfaction isn’t in what you can do with the creds, really. It’s in the knowing you have them.

That is the kind of thinking that is bred in Olympus Mons; it drips off the tall, glassy buildings like too-sweet honey. It is exchanged from hand to hand as businesspeople make their deals. It paints the corners of lips, smooths out the skin, darkens the hearts of the city’s inhabitants. Nureyev feels something like bile rise up in his throat as he skirts around a harried assistant struggling to tote a tower of multi-colored boxes. Maybe it’s in the air. Miasma’s paper-thin account card feels like it has taken on a life of its own, the weight of it suddenly more prevalent in his pants pocket.

The last time was here, he had been on the job. While his interactions with Blair Rockridge hadn’t had much of an effect on the trillionaire—thievery typically doesn’t, when you’re that rich—it had been his saving grace, putting him back into good standing with Miasma. Not long after that, he’d successfully stolen the Death Mask of Grimpotheuthis, further pleasing his boss. It had been one of Nureyev’s trickier heists for a number of reasons; but, ultimately, it had all been just one more necessary step in the dance that is his life. 

The Department Store is the biggest of its size not only in Olympus Mons, but in the galaxy. It is a monstrous hodgepodge of every high-end store a person could ever dream of visiting; peaking at almost 538 stories, it is the crowning jewel of the shopping mall world. Nureyev has to tilt his head at a very uncomfortable angle just to get a look at the flashing array of signs advertising this season’s latest fashion trends. People bustle past him, entering and exiting the Department Store at breakneck speeds. At the front desk sits a robotic receptionist with a blank nametag; as soon as Nureyev approaches, the calm figure’s head snaps up from its work to flash a stream star’s smile.

“Hello. Welcome to the Olympus Mons Department Store,” it says, eyes unblinking. “How may we help you today?”

“Oh, um, hello. I—"

“Please wait a moment while we assign you a personal shopper.” The receptionist goes perfectly still. Nureyev wonders if this is supposed to happen and is about to saying something when it pops back to attention, continuing, “Your assigned personal shopper has arrived. Please enjoy your visit at the Olympus Mons Department Store.” The robot shifts back to its original pose, as if Nureyev had never approached.

“Thank you.” He’s not sure if the receptionist hears him, but it usually pays to be polite. He takes a quick glance around the room, looking for whoever is supposed to help him, but he only sees a mad rush of very busy shoppers. A tap on his shoulder makes him nearly jump out of his skin.

“Oh! I’m sorry to have frightened you, sir.” The person—who was standing behind him, apparently, lets out a nervous chuckle as she removes his coat. 

There is a certain art to being Peter Nureyev, and he believes that after a few decades of practice, he has gotten close to mastering it. The secret, he has learned, is not to be himself at all—especially on the job. Thus, he has gotten very handy at creating different characters to do the dirty work for him. Perseus Shah, while not at all perfect—Nureyev’s detective work actually fooling someone was definitely a fluke—was one of these. Agent Rex Glass, another. But, what he has found to be incredibly important about his particular calling card is practice—and more practice, and more. He likes to workshop his characters; he’ll take them for test runs, go somewhere and interact with someone who is sure not to remember him the next day—or at the very least, someone unimportant enough to not cause him any trouble down the line. It helps him prepare for the job itself; after all, if he can’t totally pass as someone else, he might as well go around telling people his real name!

Duke Rose, eccentric Minerva Heights journalist by day, one half of a famed criminal duo by night, is on trial today.

Nureyev—Rose—straightens his jacket in a decidely cool display of one who is not easily alarmed. “No trouble at all—” he glances at the woman’s nametag, “—Audra.”

Audra giggles again, then stops herself, her ears turning the same shade of red as her slicked back hair. She visibly composes herself, handing off Nureyev’s coat to a passing drone. “How can I help you today, Mr.—”

“Rose,” Nureyev says with a winning smile. “Duke Rose. Pleasure to meet you.”

The woman nods, her shoulders relaxing. “Well, what can I help you with today, Mr. Rose?”

“Hmm.” He gazes at the ceiling, as if he doesn’t know exactly what he came here for and needs a moment to think it over. “A new suit, I think, for myself and my spouse. And jewelry, for the both of us.”

“Anniversary coming up?” Audra asks. Her eyes widen, as if the words came out before she could stop them. Nureyev wonders if the rest of the staff is like this, frantic and jumpy whenever something causes them to act at all personable. From the lack of conversational sounds filling the enormous space, he assumes not. 

“No,” he replies truthfully as the shopper leads the way to the clothing department. “A business meeting, with a… _friend_ of ours.”

* * *

“Now, we could go with the maroon, but I really think the carmine goes well with your hair.” 

“The carmine is rather nice. But won’t it clash the shoes?” Nureyev studies himself in the mirror. He twirls, admiring the outfit from every angle.

“I really don’t think it will, Mr. Rose.” Audra has been patient as a saint while Nureyev has been fitted for and then dressed up in suit after suit—each one a shade of red, of course. Duke Rose, he has decided, is very into the rose motif. When you have a fun last name like ‘Rose’, why not? Clothing might not seem all that important when you’re a master thief, but really, it’s the complete opposite; it’s the clothes that make the character, and thus, that make the thief. The thievery itself is only part of it; confidence, intimidation, style—you can destroy a man if you yourself possess those things. The insecure mind is easily turned to putty when placed before one brimming with confidence. And right now, clad in a perfectly fitted silk suit the shade of wine with shadowy embellishments, chunky black heels, and a pair of cherry-tinted eyeglasses, Nureyev—Rose—feels like a very confident person. He only hopes that Brock Engstrom will fit the role of 'insecure foil'.

“I’ll take it!” he announces, spinning again for good measure. Audra applauds as he takes a sweeping bow. 

“Alright, alright,” the personal shopper says with a halting laugho, “let’s not forget about your spouse.”

“Of course! As if I could ever forget about my darling Dahlia.” Nureyev steps into the changing room to redress in his slightly less extravagant red jacket and white turtleneck. “He may be even easier to shop for than I am—he’s one of those ladies that looks wonderful in just about anything, you know.”

“That’s sweet,” Audra’s voice coos from beyond the black curtain that separates the changing room from the rest of the boutique. 

“I still plan on being incredibly picky, however. This is a very important, ah, business deal, and I plan on us making as grand an impression as possible.”

“Matching outfits?”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Ooh, I like it. I’ll pick out a few things and we’ll see what you think.”

The first item in Audra’s overflowing arms that catches Nureyev’s eye is velvety and a pleasant shade of pink. With encouragement from the woman, he removes the ensemble and looks it over. 

“The raspberry,” Audra notes, “is obviously a little pinker than your own suit, but the roses are in carmine as well. Matchy, but not too matchy.”

Nureyev couldn’t agree more. Besides the fact that the suit is stunning and exquisitely made, he can already picture Juno—Dahlia—wearing it. The shade will pop against his dark skin, the floral print adding a touch of femininity that will highlight the detective’s soft eyes and sweeping hair. What a pair they will be—Juno and Nureyev, Duke and Dahlia. He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t accidentally fall in love with his faux-spouse. 

“It’s perfect,” he says simply, because it is. Then, remembering himself, he repeats, “It’s absolutely perfect, Audra, you gem!” 

“Really?” 

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. Now what about the shoes, I _know_ you’ve already picked out the shoes.”

Audra blushes, producing a pair of heeled black boots.

“Well,” Nureyev pronounces, producing Miasma’s card, “I think we’re just about done here. Now, on to—”

“The jewelry department?”

“Lead the way.”

* * *

Nureyev has to stop himself from shielding his eyes against the blinding glare of light on precious stones. Not only is there an endless supply of artificial lights casting a ghostly glow over the jewelry, the store also lets in an absurd amount of sunlight, thanks to the floor-to-ceiling windows that make up the walls. 

“Where to?” Audra asks. Nureyev had offered to carry the garment bags himself—after all, they are his purchases—but the woman had repeatedly refused. 

In the same pattern as on his previous stop, Nureyev browses the store for Rose’s accessories first. He knows almost exactly what he’s looking for here—silver. Sharp, dangerous-yet elegant pieces. He selects a silver chain for his industrial piercing along with two shining hoops and a stud for his upper lobe, orbital, and snug; additionally, he gathers a collection of rings—ranging in thickness and style, but all silver. Nureyev has always had a certain attraction to things that shimmer—Duke Rose now does as well—but rings are his particular favorites. They cause him to gesture more with his hands; the weight gives him an air of elegance, and he can’t help but show them off. 

Juno—Dahlia, he really must start referring to the detective as Dahlia—requires little of Audra’s assistance. Nureyev finds that, as with the raspberry suit, he only needs to glimpse an item of jewelry to picture it on the lady’s neck or finger. Juno doesn’t wear much jewelry, usually. Nureyev noted that the first time they met. He doesn’t know if this is out of discomfort or simply preference, but he decides to respect it anyway. For his spouse, Rose purchases a short thin silver chain bearing an intricate rose pendant. It’s very simple, but that’s what he likes about it; Juno doesn’t need much to make him stand out in a room.

There is one final item that Nureyev needs—two, actually. The wedding rings. Remarkably, it had been one of the first things to cross his mind when originally drafting the Utgard Express heist. After all, what’s a fake marriage without a symbol of said fake marriage? Only a fool would forget the wedding rings.

He’s already perusing the selection of rings, examining each one with a trained eye. He passes all manner of bands and shapes, but what forces him to stop in his tracks is a pair set with amethysts; he bends down to get a closer look. They might be the most beautiful thing he’s seen today. The stones are gorgeous, but what really stands out about them is their rough, non-precision cut. They remind him of Juno’s hands—scarred and a little battered from his career, but with a sweet gentility that he still feels on his skin every now and then. Nureyev’s mind wanders; he imagines sliding the thin silver band onto the detective’s left hand, brushing the warmth of his skin. He thrills at the thought of having a ring just like it on his own hand.

Audra’s voice interrupts his daydream. “I gotta tell you, Mr. Rose, buying someone else a ring for their fiancée never turns out well. I should know.”

“Hm?” Nureyev jerks into a standing position, nearly hitting his head on the jewelry cabinet, startled for the second time today by a woman who shouldn’t be so startling. “Sorry, would you repeat that?” He can feel the flush coloring his face. 

“It’s just, well, these are our engagement rings—” Audra gasps. “Ohh, are you two renewing your vows? My aunts did that just last month!”

Nureyev blinks. “Precisely!” Assumptions are dangerous things, but he has never been more thankful for one than he is right now. Audra really is a saint. 

“Aw, that’s great. I’ve heard that’s really good for keeping a marriage healthy.” She crouches down to where he was bent only moments earlier and unlocks the cabinet using a key from a packed keyring clipped to her belt. “These are the ones you were looking at, right?” Audra sets them in his palm.

“Well, I was _considering_ them,” Nureyev corrects, “but, oh, I don’t know; now I’m not so sure. I don’t know if they’re…quite right. ” He can’t let a pair of rings distract him from a job that will require all of his focus. But those rings would look lovely on Juno’s hands…Dahlia’s hands, you idiot, _Dahlia’s_. 

“Considering them for a long time,” Audra mutters teasingly. “You’re welcome to keep looking, but I would hang on to those. Don’t want another customer buying them if you’re attached.” 

“I am _not_ attached.” He most definitely is. But he continues down the line of rings, Audra tailing him. 

“So,” she eventually says as he pauses to examine a rectangular emerald set in a golden band, “tell me about him.”

Nureyev doesn’t need to ask which ‘him’ she means. This is the tricky part; at this point, he knows Duke Rose like the back of his hand (although he will have to tone the part down a little, Nureyev always struggles with that). But Nureyev has never had to create a partner before. His mind scrambles, trying to think of vague traits a man like Rose would be attracted to. “He’s stubborn,” Nureyev tells Audra, “as a mule. And reckless, and accusing. He’s also far too trusting, and almost too rooted in his morality for his own good.”

“But you love him?”

“Oh, did I forget to mention how handsome he is?” Nureyev sighs. “I’m afraid I’m painting him in a very bad light. _Dahlia_ is…one of the kindest people I know, truly. He cares fiercely about the people around him; he doesn’t know how to tell them so, but he’ll go to very edge for them anyway. He’s brave, and he’s intelligent, and he’s witty—and humble, so he’d probably deny everything I’ve said about him. And, yes,” he finishes. “I suppose I do love him.” And there is plenty of time to reflect on that later. Which is odd, because he’s talking about Duke and Dahlia. They’re married. They love each other. Obviously. 

“Wow.” Audra shakes her head in awe, eyelashes fluttering rapidly. “Wish I had what you two have.”

“You will,” Nureyev tells her, brain slightly in disarray, “I’m sure of it.” He didn’t realize how hard he was clutching the amethyst rings; they’ve left slight indentations on his palms. “I think I will take these, actually.” He gives them a quick once over, to check for any damages. “They’re quite pretty, aren’t they?” They might not match with the suits, but maybe that’s for the best. If you’re going to play a game, why not go for the gold? Or silver, in this case.

“Good choice, Mr. Rose.” Audra smiles a triumphant _I-told-you-so_ smile; she’s back in personal shopper mode, swiping the rings and Miasma’s card right out of Nureyev’s hand to have the items paid for at the counter.

* * *

Nureyev tips Audra an extra few hundred creds than is socially required. It’s not like she doesn’t deserve it, and if Miasma asks any questions, he’ll just say it was necessary for his plan. He doesn’t think Miasma fully understands the workings of the thief’s mind, so hopefully she’ll just go along with her employee’s eccentricities. 

On the way out, he asks Audra if she’s new to the personal shopper business. She admits that she is, and badgers him (in quite an unprofessional way) to tell her how he knows. He doesn’t answer, just thanks her profusely and grins as he waves goodbye.

The streets of Olympus Mons seem much bleaker and less overwhelming as Nureyev exits the Department Store; he’s ambushed by the sounds and colors of the busy street, but it’s paled in comparison to the afternoon he just had. Definitely something in the air, he thinks.

Well. Duke Rose has the outfit, the story, and the plan. All he needs now is the detective.

He’s prepared when he hears the buzz of an incoming call on his comms. 

“This had better be good, thief.” His boss’ naturally gravelly voice is furthered muffled by the terrible signal native to Olympus Mons. 

“All part of the plan.” Nureyev doesn’t bother trying to slice any of Rose’s charm into his voice. 

“Lot of creds to spend in one day. You know that there’s only thin ice with me. One mistake…that’s all it will take.”

“It will all be worth it. I promise.” Two beeps signal the end of the call.

Oh, yes. It will be worth it. Just not for Miasma, if Nureyev plays his cards right. He presses a few buttons on his comms, unable to stop his lips from twisting into a smirk.

“Hello. Yes. I’m going to be delivering a package in a few minutes. Yes. Room 1113? Wonderful…”

**Author's Note:**

> i...didn't expect this to get kinda emotional. it was supposed to be a comedy. but i always love nureyev/duke rose and after listening to train from nowhere i couldn't help but wondering--when did peter have time to buy juno clothes? where did the money come from? hope you enjoyed!! i love comments so i would appreciate it if you left one (it can literally be anything. tell me my writing's bad. tell me the concept was dumb. or something nice i don't really care). <3


End file.
